I drove to his office building on auto-pilot, every effort going into making sure I drove safely and pushing out all thoughts of “What if?”. It was six in the morning when I arrived in the parking lot. He wouldn’t be in yet, his first appointment slot was seven-thirty. I intended on getting to him first. I would use the recording to make him hand over Emma’s personal details and certify me as sane, or whatever it was that I needed to prove that I could inherit. Then I would go straight to Emma’s and seek her out.
Settling back into the driver’s seat, I could feel my eyes closing, the hangover from the drugs weighing me down. Pulling out my iPod, I set the alarm, afraid that I would run the risk of falling asleep and missing his arrival. Satisfied it would wake me within the hour, I used my jacket as a blanket and let sleep take over.
My phone woke me in plenty of time to catch his car turning into the parking lot at seven-fifteen. I had to stop myself from jumping out too early. I wanted him away from his car before I sprang upon him. I didn’t want to risk him trying to bolt.
He had blipped his car and was halfway across the lot when I stepped into his path.
“Abi?” he said in surprise, a hint of fear in his tone.
“Dr Tate.”
“Should you be driving?” his eyes scanned the lot as though looking for someone to have accompanied me. “I wouldn’t expect you to be—”
“I don’t have time for your concerns, Dr Tate,” I said sharply. “I’m in a hurry, can we take this inside?”
He hesitated but as another car pulled into the lot, his nerves got the better of him and he gestured for me to precede him into the building. We didn’t speak as we walked through the various corridors that led to his office. There weren’t many people about and I wanted to be in the sanctity of his office in close proximity of his arriving clients and his receptionist before I pushed him to provide all that I wanted.
As we entered his waiting area, his receptionist was already in situ, a coffee for her boss ready and waiting. She greeted us both politely, any curiosity at my presence well masked.
“Thank you, Cara,” he said, taking up his drink with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eye. “Would you care for a drink, Abigail?”
“Not particularly,” I said, the coldness to my tone earning a questioning glance from the receptionist.
“Very well,” he said. “Can you delay my seven-thirty appointment please, Cara? Abigail and I are not to be disturbed.”
“Of course,” she replied, her focus turning to the computer screen as she began to tap away. I could feel her gaze flicking back to me as I followed Dr Tate into his office. I knew her brain would be doing overtime trying to guess my reason for being there but I didn’t care. Having her present made me feel safe.
“Take a seat, Abigail,” he said to me as he closed the door behind me.
“I’d rather stand, if you don’t mind.” Not that I truly cared if it did bother him, the words just came out automatically.
“As you wish,” he said, turning away and heading to his desk. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to take a seat though.”
“Suit yourself, you’re probably going to need it.” He paused halfway to taking his seat, his eyes flicking nervously to me before he continued back, unbuttoning his jacket as he sat. I could see him fighting for composure but the pulse working in his clamped jaw spoke volumes.
“So, are you going to tell me what brings you here?” he said, casually leaning back in his chair.
Here we go. I kept my steady gaze on him and, without ceremony, issued my first command. “I want you to get me Emma’s personal details.”
His eyes widened with surprise and he shook his head. “I can’t do that.”
“I’ve not finished, Dr Tate. I also want you to certify me as mentally sound so that I can inherit what is rightfully mine.”
His eyebrows positively hit the roof; if he’d been surprised before, then he was stunned speechless now.
“Look, Doctor, I have somewhere else to be so if you can—”
“Now, Abi,” he cut over me, giving a nervous chuckle, “I’m not sure what you think is going on here, but I assure—”
“Save it, Doctor! If you don’t get me those things immediately I will make public this rather interesting recording I have of our session last night.”
He turned white as a sheet, his body flinging forward in his seat as his hands planted into the desk before him. “A recording?”
“Yes,” I said, taking great satisfaction in the effect my words were having and the amazing control to my voice as I successfully hid the rampaging butterflies in my belly.
His brow furrowed. “An actual recording?”
Now he just looked stupid and I had to resist the temptation to tell him as much. “Yes, you must be familiar with them since you often record sessions with your patients, do you not?”
